


More Questions than Answers

by tiniestawoo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Genre: (alternate for CQL I GUESS?), Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Beta Derek Hale, Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Curse Breaking, Curses, Demonic Cultivation (Módào Zǔshī), Full Shift Werewolves, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:19:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27491818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiniestawoo/pseuds/tiniestawoo
Summary: With Derek trapped feral and fully shifted, the pack has exhausted all their normal methods of sorting out the problem. Alan Deaton calls in a favor from an old friend of his.Or, the one in which I work out my frustration with the eighteen trillion names everyone has in CQL vicariously though Stiles Stilinski, and also celebrate my 100th posted fic by dragging BOTH of my favorite fandoms into this madness.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn
Comments: 37
Kudos: 186





	More Questions than Answers

**Author's Note:**

> Oh where to begin.
> 
> This is not particularly spoiler heavy. It's probably got more total spoilers for Teen Wolf than it does for The Untamed, as I intentionally kept those vague. Also, I used the eye colors from MDZS?? This is a mess. As per usual, I cannot keep my canons straight, and it only gets worse when I also add in Teen Wolf canon.
> 
> This is my 100th posted fic on this website!! As such, I wanted to pay homage to both of my dearest loves. So, I present to this fic to you as my humble offering. It should be enjoyable regardless of which fandom you know me from!!

Stiles’s knee bounces, and his fingers, steepled against each other, tap an asynchronous rhythm. He swallows, his throat dry, his chest tight. “Deaton, are you sure about this?” he asks, looking across the desk at the vet. 

Alan Deaton looks up from his computer and tilts the lid down so he can more easily level Stiles with a stare that makes him regret opening his mouth. One day, it might work. Maybe. “Stiles, I assure you that there is no one more qualified in the world to assist with this particular occurrence.” 

“How do you even know what’s going on? I certainly don’t. Lydia couldn’t figure it out. Mrs. Yukimura was even puzzled, and if a nine-hundred year old former-Kitsune can’t figure out what’s wrong, you know we’re fucked. So if maybe you could explain _how_ you knew that you had to call this...cultivator? What do they even...cultivate? Don’t you cultivate –”

“Stiles.” 

“–plants? What do cultivators – botanists? – know about werewolves? Derek is _stuck as a wolf_ , he’s not a plant. Unless maybe there’s some kind of plant that can make him turn –”

“ _Stiles_.” Deaton stands, closing the laptop with a terse smile. He tips his head towards the door of the office and Stiles feels the color drain from his face.

Standing in the doorway to Deaton’s office are two men. One is dressed in black, with a red scarf draped around his neck, an amused grin on his face. The other, taller than the first, with long dark hair pulled back in a simple plait, is not smiling. Stiles can’t quite put his finger one exactly what expression he sees on the man's face, but he doesn’t have to read the expression to know he’s terrified of him. 

Deaton ignores Stiles’s obvious discomfort, folds his hands, and bows politely. “Hanguang-jun, Wei Wuxian, welcome. Please excuse Mr. Stilinski. The cursed werewolf in question is his partner. I’m sure you can understand his concern.”

The man in black smiles broader. Stiles still does not know which one is Hanguang-jun, and which one is Wei Wuxian. “Ah, young love,” he says, looking up at the man over his shoulder. “We were young once, Lan Zhan. Do you remember?” 

The man, who Stiles has finally acknowledged is wearing almost entirely white, and is apparently called _Lan Zhan_ which is neither Hanguang-jun nor Wei Wuxian, looks down at the man in black. “Mm.” 

“Should we go see how the others are doing containing Derek?” Deaton says, his face still plastered in a smile that Stiles knows is nervous. He wonders if the two men – the cultivators? Botanists? Musicians maybe? Something with strings pokes out from over the top of the white-clad man’s shoulder – know it’s fake. 

“Yes!” The black clad man folds his hands together and turns, nudging the other gently out of the way and then stepping to the side so Deaton can lead them out.

Stiles is reminded of the _point_ of all of this. This Lan-Zhan-Hanguang-jun-Wei-Wuxian duo (a duo with three names?) was here to help them get Derek back. Derek, who has been inexplicably a wolf for almost two weeks after run in with some kind of very angry tree. It was _not_ a Dryad. Dryads, Stiles knew from the _last_ time he’d encountered one, were reasonable creatures. If you didn’t bother their tree, they didn’t bother you.

This time it had been...the tree that attacked? Malia had tried to explain the whole thing very quickly, and Stiles was sure there were pertinent details left out of the report, but the only others on patrol with her and Derek were Liam and Corey so, his chances of getting any _better_ information from them were slim.

The drive to the preserve is filled with the chatter of the black-clad man, whom Stiles has realized must be the one called Wei Wuxian, given that Deaton finally addressed one of them directly when he suggested Wei Wuxian sit in the back of the SUV with Stiles. The white-clad man (Lan-Zhan-Hanguang-jun) hasn’t even uttered a full word yet. Stiles is mystified.

On the other hand, Wei Wuxian has not _stopped_ uttering words. Stiles is quite genuinely impressed with the fluidity and consistency of his speech. He was pretty sure he’s never met someone who can talk _more_ than he does, but with Wei Wuxian in the car, there’s hardly room for him to get a word in edgewise. 

That doesn’t mean he shouldn’t try. When Wei Wuxian starts to launch into some story about someone called A-Yuan, Stiles cuts in. “So, Derek is a born wolf.” 

He’s pretty sure Deaton wants to have a heart attack on the spot, but he suddenly has both the attention, and the gaze, of both men. The white-clad man’s eyes are golden, almost like a beta wolf. Stiles is struck momentarily speechless by the fact that maybe he’s underestimated this whole situation. He swallows, does something incredibly out of character (thinks about his words), and then asks. “What exactly can the two of you do?”

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to speak, but then shuts it with a click as the white-clad man inhales pointedly. Wei Wuxian smiles a soft, genuine smile. Stiles knows smiles like that. He _misses_ a smile like that. Lan-Zhan-Hanguang-jun says, “Please forgive our disrespect, Mr. Stilinski. We’re familiar with Alan, and Wei Ying was excited for the chance to catch up. My name is Lan Wangji. This is my husband, Wei Ying, courtesy name Wuxian.” 

Lan Wangji is _neither_ Lan Zhan, nor Hanguang-jun, but Stiles has given up on trying to piece together that particular puzzle. “I’m Stiles Stilinski,” he says, giving a curt nod. “The cursed werewolf is my fiance, Derek Hale.” 

“Lan Zhan is the best cultivator in the world,” Wei Wuxian says with a bright smile. “Cultivation is just...another word for magic. ” Lan Wangji makes a pained sound, but Wei Wuxian ignores him. “Lan Zhan’s specialty is musical cultivation. Hence, his instrument.”

“Aren’t you a cultivator too?”

Wei Wuxian’s smile falters and returns so quickly that Stiles isn’t even sure he’s really seen it happen. “I used to be,” he says, slate grey eyes flicking to Lan Wangji before they return to Stiles. “But, things happen. I made my choices and I live with them.” 

Stiles, not sure that he understands at all, nods anyway. “Are you just here as a companion, then? Werewolves are dangerous. Derek is…” It hurts him to say. “Derek is dangerous like this.” 

Wei Wuxian reaches across the car to pat Stiles on the shoulder. “I can hold my own.” He winks. 

Stiles isn’t particularly reassured, but they’re out of time because Deaton pulls up to the gravel patch that serves as a parking lot. Lydia’s and Malia’s cars are already there. Stiles isn’t sure how much of the pack it’s taken to contain Derek. 

_“You can’t be here right now, Stiles,” Scott says sadly. “Derek would never forgive me if I let him hurt you_.” 

Stiles fiddles with his engagement ring as he climbs out of the car and starts down the path without waiting for the others. A moment later, there is a flash of white in his periphery, and he looks up at Lan Wangji. His face is still serene, but there is perhaps a flatness to his mouth that wasn’t there before, a new crinkle to his eyes. 

“Tell me about your werewolf,” Lan Wangji says.

Stiles does. He gives a brief rundown of Derek’s history – the fire, New York with Laura, Peter’s rampage, his failed attempt at being an alpha. At the mention of Derek’s sacrifice, giving up his alpha spark to save Cora, Lan Wangji’s face does something complex. “Cora is his family?” he asks.

“His little sister,” Stiles says, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. 

Lan Wangji glances back over his shoulder, to where Wei Wuxian is once again babbling incessantly at a surprisingly engaged Deaton. When Lan Wangji turns back, there’s something like a smile on his lips. It’s muted, like all of his expressions so far, but there’s a soft fondness to his eyes. “Older siblings will sacrifice much for the people they love.” 

Stiles doesn’t understand. He’s not sure he’s meant to. He continues his story, discusses Kate Argent’s return, briefly mentions that there’s a history there. He’s cautious with what he says. That information wasn’t shared to _Stiles_ lightly, and it certainly isn’t something Stiles wants to tell a complete stranger. But still, it’s important. It _matters_. 

Stiles has just finished recounting the story of the Anuk-Ite when a howl breaks through the trees. In a flash, Wei Wuxian is in front of both Stiles and Lan Wangji, holding … _a flute?_ “That was Scott.” Stiles says softly. “The alpha.”

A moment later, Scott joins them. There are slashes through his shirt and leaves in his hair. “Oh thank god,” he says, looking directly at Stiles, hands on his hips, chest heaving. “We’ve got him penned in with Argent’s transmitters, but he’s _pissed_ about it.” Scott blinks and looks at the two unfamiliar men. He smiles warmly, “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Alan said this was important.” Wei Wuxian says, “Take us to this werewolf.”

The clearing where they have Derek pinned in isn’t far. Malia, Liam, Theo and Argent all look similar levels of exhausted. Mason and Lydia are a few meters further back, whispering with bowed heads.

Derek, in wolf form, paces along the edge of the transmitters, wincing every time he gets too close to one, a high whine interspersed between angry growls. Stiles steps forward and stops himself. “Der.” 

“Is that…” Stiles glances over his shoulder to see Wei Wuxian frozen, eyes wide, hands clenched around his flute. “Is that … the werewolf?” 

“Yes?” Stiles says, raising an eyebrow.

“Aiyah,” Wei Wuxian takes a few deep breaths, glances at Lan Wangji – who looks the most obviously amused that Stiles has seen him all day – and then looks back at Derek. “Not what I was expecting.”

“Wei Ying is not fond of dogs,” Lan Wangji says. 

Stiles considers mentioning the laundry list of reasons why calling Derek a dog is both mildly offensive and incorrect, but he _needs_ their help so, he bites his tongue.

“Let’s get this over with, and then he’ll turn back into a human, right?” Wei Wuxian has a fake smile on his face, his eyes still guarded and wary. He tucks his flute into his belt and reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket, withdrawing a stack of thin yellow papers. He glances at the metal transmitters staked into the ground, and bends to study them. Next to each of them, he places one of the papers – now with red symbols on them? Where had he gotten a marker?

“Turn them off,” he says to no one in particular, once it’s done. “He’s too angry with them on.” 

After a moment, the transmitters are off, and the only sound in the clearing is Derek’s growling. He lunged at every gap between transmitters, and each time, was repelled by nothing. 

“Talismans?” Stiles whispers. He’s studied enough magic that he can piece together things when the answers are obvious. 

Wei Wuxian grins and nods. “Quick study.” He turns around to look at Lan Wangji. “Lan Zhan, there is still too much anger. Rest, first.” 

Lan Wangji nods. Gracefully, he falls to a cross-legged seat and slides the instrument from his back to rest across his knees. His fingers pluck at the strings, the melody gentle. 

In the center of the talisman-circle, Derek drops to a seat, his head cocked to the side. His growls subside. His eyes droop, and he slides down further, his head resting on his front paws. Stiles watches, fascinated. 

A higher pitched sound enters the fray, airy and melodic, but more cutting. The air around them suddenly feels colder, and when Stiles tears his eyes away from Derek to look at Wei Wuxian, the man is shrouded in shadows. His eyes are blood red. 

In the center of the circle, Derek’s head lifts, he bears his teeth in a growl. Then, a shudder runs through his body, once, twice, a third time. Something, black and angry, peels away from his fur. Stiles thinks it might have teeth. Wei Wuxian steps forward, kicks at one of the talismans to break the circle.

The dark creature jumps forward, lunges at Wei Wuxian and is repelled by an angry noise from Lan Wangji's instrument. It’s tossed back. Wei Wuxian stops playing. “Cleansing!” he calls, his flute by his side, his hand trembling slightly. The melody behind him changes. The power in the air builds. Stiles is so mesmerized by it he doesn’t see that Derek has shifted back until he hears a very human cough from the center of the circle. 

Scott helpfully throws a pair of sweatpants at Stiles, who crosses the distance quickly, handing them to Derek and dropping to his knees beside him. His eyes are still on the creature. It fights, it screams. It’s form pulses, once, twice, three times, and then it dissipates into nothing. 

The clearing goes quiet. Stiles turns to Derek, who looks up at him with wide hazel eyes. “Are you okay?” Stiles asks softly. Derek hasn’t made any move to attack him, hasn’t growled or flashed beta blue at Stiles. He’s still afraid it hasn’t worked. He holds out the sweatpants. 

“I think so,” Derek answers, taking them and sitting up. Once he’s no longer naked, he reaches out, grips Stiles’s face in both of his hands. A smile flashes across his face. Soft, warm, loving. The smile Stiles has missed.

“Ah, young love,” Wei Wuxian says behind them.

“Mm,” Lan Wangji replies. 

When Stiles turns to look at them, Lan Wangji has an arm wrapped around Wei Wuxian’s waist, and Wei Wuxian’s head is resting back against Lan Wangji’s shoulder. His eyes are still red, but the shadows have faded. 

“We should get to the hotel, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says. His eyes are only on Wei Wuxian, and Stiles is struck by how he missed how absolutely, unbearably _in love_ the two men were. “You need to rest.” 

“Who are they?” Derek asks softly, frowning.

Stiles turns back to him. “I’ll tell you later,” he darts in to kiss Derek’s cheek. “You need a shower.”

Derek laughs. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know what you thought. I have no idea what I was doing, this was written and posted in the span of like two hours because I needed to get it out of my system. I hope you enjoyed it!!


End file.
